Pieces
by raised-perdition
Summary: You liked fixing broken things. I liked fixing broken things too. Dean/Castiel


**Title**: Pieces  
**Pairing**: Destiel  
**Rating**: R-18 (descriptive scenes of violence, **also contains mild spoilers for SE8EP17**)  
**Summary**: You liked fixing broken things. I liked fixing broken things too. Dean/Castiel_  
_**Word Count**: 4,628

**Note**: I do not, by any means, own Supernatural. If I did, there would be more Chuck involved.

* * *

You lifted me when I was at my lowest.

I know, I know – It was all a part of the mission originally. Why would anyone _want_ to save a man whose hands had long been tarnished with the intestines of those who probably didn't deserve the torture as worse as they did? Why would anyone let their Grace be tainted with the dark desires of a man who not only longed to be allowed to live, but who was willing to brutally slaughter anyone in his way just so he could live another day? For days I cried for my brother, his name originally being the only name to have ever left my lips. After that, I eventually started calling for my mother too, and then my father, and finally, my grandfather. I was so consumed by the desperate desires for my family to be the ones to save me that I completely disregarded who my real savior would be. I didn't think it would be you anymore than you probably thought it would be me. I was supposed to be the strong one.

I don't think people understand what it's like to be thrown into a situation like I was. They would say, "Oh, I could have survived that" or "That wasn't that big of a deal, you could've kept saying no" and even the accusatory, "You did it because you wanted the world to end. Don't play stupid with me." I hurt people down there. I grinned while I watched their skin flake off their charred muscle and it sickened me that I had dared to fall so low until I was basically one of them. But I don't think people understand what it's like to be the person on the rack, not the person dealing out the pain. I like to pride myself into thinking that I lasted thirty years before I even considered giving in, and although we wave our hands and scoff at the fact that I probably didn't give in the complete last ten years, it seems as though all proper time is discarded because I won't let anyone tell me that what I did was wrong. It was wrong. It was horrible, but I guess that's why you felt drawn to me. You don't realize it, but you like fixing broken things. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me or a situation we're all in. You just sit there with this silly gleam in your eyes that's tinged with despair and trepidation, but you don't let that stop you from doing what the Father intended for you to do. You're a soldier, I know, but you aren't one to destroy.

You don't believe me when I say I don't remember anything about Hell, and in a sense, you're correct.

There's a lot I remember about Hell: the smell, the constant orchestra of screams as people caught up into flames and burned to death, the occasional sound of a man rattling in a cage he was contained in, but the loudest sound of them all was Alastair's chuckle behind me as I made precise cuts into a woman's flesh. Doing it made me sick to my stomach, but I wanted to live somehow. For years I carved the same pattern into willing flesh, watched the sight of beautiful rubies glitter down charred skin, and the only thing I can say to redeem myself is that before I ever considered yes, I let the demon do the same thing to me day after day, hour after hour. He could have invested his time in someone else, but he didn't. The only demon that had destroyed my body was Alastair. He marked me time after time whenever I said no, reminding me that I could be set free if I said yes. I never believed that part. No one would rescue me, I'd convinced myself. I wasn't someone who deserved to be saved.

My self-hatred was at the highest there in Hell and although it hurt and I wanted to vomit, I relished in my punishment because I was finally getting what I deserved. He would say all these horrible things to me about my brother and my father, sometimes about my mother and grandfather, but the two people who would always dig their nails into my heart and rip it to shreds would be those I spent the most time hunting with. Alastair reminded me of it, too, that I would never be someone anyone would want to love with all the broken pieces of my scattered soul. All it would do was cut them. I would agree in my head and he would press whatever weapon he was using to shear my vessel into my harder and laugh.

My punishment became something I looked forward to. It didn't pleasure me like it did some of the sick freaks that ended up walking the halls, but it reminded me of why I was such a disgusting human. I killed monsters in hope that it would turn my own opinion of myself around. I'd hoped that the more I destroyed the creatures who wanted to destroy my home, the less disgusted I would feel with myself. I don't think you understand some of the things I say when it comes to Sam. I love Sam, and I would do anything for Sam: I would kill for Sam, I would die time and time again for Sam, and I would leave him if he needed that to happen. His happiness was the only thing that kept me going when we were children. When we grew up and he decided that he didn't want to be involved in the family business anymore, my happiness went with him. I was my father's soldier, like you are to yours, but mine didn't mean as much to me. I wanted my dad to love me like he loved Sam in the fiercely overprotective way that he cherished my brother, but it just didn't end up like that. He needed me to be strong enough to protect Sam when he couldn't anymore, and so we never had moments celebrating my happiness – only his and Sam's and to be honest, I didn't have any argument to offer in that. I didn't want to celebrate my own life because mine wasn't precious. The only thing I lived for was Sam and now; I guess I live for you too.

You've heard enough about my time during actually living Hell, so I guess you ought to hear about the time you raised me from perdition. It was a particular evening. Alastair wanted me to torture a child; I didn't want to torture a child. Children always reminded me of Sam when he was younger, and an instant protective feeling would cloud my judgment if one was ever mentioned. I teetered back and forth between denying the demon and accepting whatever punishment he tossed at me or actually going ahead with it because some sick part of me wanted to think of Sam one more day before I made the decision to lose myself completely in the insanity. As expected, I wouldn't do it. I refused Alastair and even tried to free the kid, but that was useless. Humans really had no way of helping each other out in Hell. Our hands would be burned by even touching the metal others were chained in, or we were stopped fast enough to be slammed into a wall and killed. For my defiance, Alastair did send me away, but only to be placed within the most heated water there could have possibly been down there. My skin burned off until I was nothing and after that, he had a demon hang me on a rack by my shoulders where he placed a knife into my hand and told me to do it or I would never taste redemption again. I agreed. It wasn't my proudest moment and to this day, the face of the child haunts me, but I just didn't want anything bad to happen to me anymore. I became the most selfish creature to ever walk the planet, strutting about because I had gotten the option to defy the rules of Hell while others were forced to swallow their own blood. It was as hot as it could be, but another warm touched me.

The orchestra of screams ended with muffled surprise, and outcries of war replaced them. I was told to keep doing my job. Alastair went to go explore the happenings. I remember the warmest touch against my skin. It was brief and I put it off because, like I've stated many times, I didn't deserve to be saved. I didn't know what was touching me anyway. The naïve part of me thought that it was Sam running to my beck and call after I'd made my throat hoarse after screaming his name for so long. But as the time continued and there wasn't another touch, I gave up on the thought that he was here looking for me. A few minutes passed and something touched me again. It was different from the warmth that already surrounded me in the sense that it was comfortable and I didn't mind the feel of it. I shifted ever so slightly so that it could continue touching me. It reminded me of a mother's embrace, and yet again I was left wondering if my mother was secretly an angel coming to save me from the hell hole I had tossed myself into all because I needed Sam to keep breathing. The touch grew more and more severe until I felt a hand press firmly against my bicep and squeeze. It was a little too tight for my taste and far too powerful to be a woman's, but I wouldn't complain – at least, not in my current state as it seemed something was showing me affection rather than a hellhound. And that's when I realized it was you.

I didn't know your name or if you even had one, but the warmth you produced was comfortable and I wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in it for an eternity. It was so divine that I felt like eyelids grow heavy. I remember dropping the knife and moving away from the kid until I collapsed into your embrace. You picked me up, called something out to the others that had joined you in your quest to save my soul, and the very last thing I can recall is your beautiful, musical voice calling out that I was saved.

You held me for a long time. I think you were afraid to let go. The others you were with weren't allowed to touch me. It took you a few days to reach the surface again and find me a safe place to wake up, but the safest place out of everything you could have chosen were your arms. In your infinite form, I was perhaps no bigger than an ant in your palm, but I was safe and you were afraid. We were connected somehow, by your Grace connecting with my soul or something of the sort, but I could feel everything you felt and you lapped hungrily at my emotions as well. When I was scared, you would soothe me. When I dreamed of the things I had done, you showed me Sam and what I would be coming back to. It was the strangest, yet most intoxicating feeling I had ever experienced. It was like I was on the brink of dreaming. It was a combination of exhausting warmth and the feeling of finally being able to rest after months and months of destruction. It had to be my favorite feeling in the world besides feeling you there in my mind with me. But the second best feeling of all of the ones you supplied my weary mind with and just when I felt just a glimmer of hope, you fed upon that and sent it back to me tenfold because for those few hours you held me in your palms, I belonged to you and no one else. The taste you left on my mind's tongue was perhaps one of the strangest flavors, but it was meant for me and only me. When another demanded to hold me, you declined and eased my troubled soul with the gentlest of nudges. You nurtured me back to health and even though you couldn't fix me completely, it didn't stop you from trying.

You placed my body at the resting place you had picked out yourself, and all I could understand was the feeling of abandonment that washed over me when your warmth suddenly vanished from around my form. You refused to come back, no matter how much I begged and while I despised you for it, I guess I made myself understand it by contemplating the fact that this was all an accident and you were going to have to send me back. I was a bit disappointed that you didn't even seem tentative to leave my side, but duty called and you were such a devoted soldier than leaving behind me rather than taking me with you was the only option you contemplated seeing. Of course, the others wouldn't have let you take me along anyway. You were hell-bent on following the orders, and they were hell-bent on following the orders to a precious tee, never once thinking that maybe I would be perfectly capable of not making a fool of myself while they fought wars. I was asleep when you left, my emotions closed off from yours and yours from mine, content with the belief that you would come back for me. I was a fool to think that.

I woke up alone and lost, disoriented and confused. The last image I remembered was the little child's face while I prodded him with the rod I was supposed to be beating him with. I laugh now because as I consider it, I was probably in the safest place you set me. Putting me off in a box several miles from any sort of establishment where there was actually population kept me from being even more disturbed than I was. Here was a man who had been deemed dead for so many years who was thrust into reality by a force that cradled him and then just left. Somehow, it didn't hurt me as much as I had thought it would. I knew that you'd come back. After all, how do you spent several hours letting someone touch your emotions in awe and then just run away? It wasn't like it was some sort of cheap bar date that gets made out with and then forgotten about a couple of hours. I saw things inside of you that no one else would, and you touched every inch of my soul that you possibly could. With the gap that let that happen closed, all I wanted was to find it again and never let it go.

I was right, though. You did come to find me and although you weren't quite what I had expected, it worked. You were haggard and worn, the vessel you wore was not quite grown up enough to handle the vastness of your entirety, but it worked for you. The voice was familiar, although worn down by the lack of room for the words to be expelled. In my head, you were always so much bigger and more powerful, but the vessel you were using had all of my attention because at first, I didn't know who you were but I could feel something about you that held my attention long enough for me to realize that you were actually the one to raise me – but to be honest, I'd always assumed it would be a girl that would catch me like this. I never wanted to seem weak in front of another man, but it wasn't like that with you. You saw my worries and doubts and made them go away. I did the same to you. People could argue for days that we didn't share a bond, but the more I listened to you speak it, the more I just wanted to reach out and touch your dirty trench coat and see if I could feel that warmth you were supposed to give off.

I didn't really trust you for a while. I didn't know whose side you were on, or whose side I was even on. I didn't know if Sam was going to want me back. Bobby put me through twice as many tests to make sure I was a demon or some sort. To be honest, I had sort of feared that would have happened too. That this whole being alive thing wasn't really me, but a monster walking around in my skin while I was forced to watch him destroy countless lives for his sick enjoyment. That wasn't the case. It turns out that you really did raise me for what was supposed to be a good reason, except it scared me. You and every other creature I seemed to encounter constantly told me that I was supposed to be Michael's vessel; that it was my destiny, but I wasn't so sure that I wanted to be a meat suit for an archangel. It was dangerous enough as it was just being a Winchester, but adding on top of the three scoops of ice cream that little tidbit of information? I'm not quite sure how I managed to survive those couple of years, what with Sam breaking the final seal and all. Part of the reason I was to tentative to even consider the offer was that there would be a lot of things I would have to give up in order to end the world. There was a chance my body would be destroyed completely in the crossfire. There was a chance I would become attuned to Michael's Grace instead of yours, learn to feed off his feelings instead of yours, and I didn't want that. I didn't want him to come in and replace all the feelings that I received from you whenever we were in the same room. You were the only person I trusted to know what I was feeling. Sam didn't know, and Bobby didn't. Jo and Ellen didn't know either. They just knew I was troubled and unresponsive to your wishes. And eventually, even Lisa and Ben didn't know.

After a while, I became accustomed to your strange habits. Sometimes you stood too close, but I didn't want you to back away because it was all that uncomfortable. When we were in public, I was afraid of what others would think and when we were alone, I was afraid of how I could possibly end up clinging to the bond we shared in a desperate attempt to keep you stationed near me at all times. That wouldn't be good for either one of us because you draw attention to yourself because technically, you're a walking, talking glow-stick when it comes to being around demons and I just happened to be the vessel of one of the strongest archangels in the Bible. You were desperate to protect me and I had to comply with your wishes, which meant as moody and distant as possible so that we didn't end up getting each other killed.

We honestly had it good for a while. We still got into some serious danger sometimes, and you still came around even after we sent Lucifer into the pit, but you stayed with us and that mattered. You claimed it was because you wanted to protect Sam too, and I guess I couldn't argue since I did need the extra help. He was a pain to watch over, especially those few months he was soulless. You started to realize how addicting the bond was too. That was maybe the best part. You would keep feeding me the strength of all your emotions, and they would wash over me and I would have to find the right one to send you back. There were so many things I wanted to show you that I felt, and feeling them from you was almost like being held in your hands again. When I would give you whatever I was feeling, it was like you were studying it so intensely that I was afraid to pull it away from you. You were hungry for everything I felt. This hunger for learning continued on for those years you chose to stay around me, but then Meg showed up and you decided you liked her better. You didn't share with me your emotions much anymore and I had to deal with some serious withdrawal.

It was hard to give up what the bond did, but I did it so you could be happy. I'm self-sacrificing like that, or whatever another one of your comrades wants to preach at me the next time we're trying to force me into doing things that make me uncomfortable. It had become so addicting to bounce my feelings at you and watch you send them back that I completely forgot about how that could possibly relate to our friendship. I realized that some small part of me loved this about us. I liked sharing with you and I assumed you liked sharing with me; why else would you continue pressing into me like you did? I didn't love you in that sense of romantic feeling, but I liked the bond we shared more than anything else that I was afraid if you got close to Meg, you wouldn't want to share anything with me anymore. That and, there was mentioning of you rescuing me was a complete and total accident, and that didn't sit very well in the pit of my stomach. Over time, I realized I was becoming that needy best friend no one wants to deal with, but I couldn't just leave you alone. I didn't want you to leave me alone either.

Eventually, Naomi decided to mess up all the works and try and destroy everything you loved. It almost worked too. I couldn't read anything you were feeling at the time, Meg kept preaching about how you were her unicorn, and truthfully, all I wanted to do was take a nap for a couple of years. I could live with you and Meg doing whatever it was that you were doing, and I could live with you never wanting to share your feelings with me again, but I couldn't bear the thought of someone being in control of you when you could do perfectly fine without her. You might not follow the orders she wanted you to carry out, but you were always the willing soldier who wanted to fix broken things. You broke Heaven, you wanted to fix Heaven. Meg was somewhat broken, you wanted to fix her. I was broken, and you have given up on there ever being redemption for me. After everything I had put you through, I would have given up on me too. Sam and I worried together equally about whether you would be okay, if Meg would make you happy enough – But it was pointless.

I remember it clearly; the day you beat me until I was basically broken and useless. I was on my knees in front of you, wobbling back and forth. I was tempted to grab your trench coat for support. You slid your cool hand across my bloodied cheek and cupped my face, and I whimpered because something inside of you told you that you didn't have to hide anymore. All of the sudden, the floodgates inside your soul opened up and I could feel everything. My emotions mixed with yours until I was surrounded by only your warmth. I breathed in all the agony you felt and did my best to make you feel less about yourself, and you could feel every bone in my body that you had broken with your hands. I could see it in your eyes that you might never forgive yourself, but you didn't have to. I forgave you enough for the both of us. I wouldn't ever blame you for what happened. Because out of everyone, out of Sam, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Lisa, Adam, you were the only person I wanted to share the weight of my guilt with. You were the only one strong enough to hold me up.

I wasn't afraid to die by your hand. It was those hands that had carried me out of Hell and taken care of me. It made sense that it would be those hands that would be the end of me. It seemed like forever that you stood there, debating following the orders to kill me and your own person preference of trying to keep you alive. But just because I wasn't afraid of Death didn't mean I wanted to return to it. Every time my eyes tried to flutter shut, I reminded myself that I had kept them shut the entire time you carried me to safety. I wanted to see you this time. It might've been the last time that I would see you. I held my breath and waited for the pain to come. But you couldn't do it. Or rather, you wouldn't do it. For those few months, you convinced yourself that you were something evil for what you had done. You didn't stop to consider that those memories were in the past. Never have you once done something you didn't think was right. Sure, you might have been wrong a couple of those times, but who isn't ever wrong? My feelings must've flooded your senses because I could see the flicker in your eyes that told me that you were back. Those hands that had nurtured my broken shell mended the stains of blood splattered across my hands and face. I trusted you to do the right thing, and that's exactly what you did, like always.

So as I lay here thinking of all the hard work you put into me to fix me, I think about all the things I could do to make you understand that you aren't bad. I'm waiting for you to come join me. I can't tell you what I want to say because there aren't words to describe the exact expression that I want. You'll come, I know you will. When you do, I'll make you share your feelings with me. I know you'll be broken. It'll be my job to fix you this time. I like fixing things too. I like taking my time to rebuild things back into the shape they once were in. You'll see what I mean, if you come.

Because I do love you like that.


End file.
